


If All Our Days Are Numbered (Then Why Do I Keep Counting?)

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a mysterious sickness that ravages the world, the survivors must work out how to carry on and what being alive really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If All Our Days Are Numbered (Then Why Do I Keep Counting?)

**Author's Note:**

> Blackout for my bingo card over at [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile) on LJ.

** Then **

_Pandemics and epidemics_

_Jenson_

The news spread faster than the epidemic, but barely. Some reports said it started in Eastern Europe, some in South America, but before they could work it out it was everywhere. First responders all over the world were quickly infected and the lines of defence broke down.

They were supposed to be in Canada that weekend. Word from the FIA was that it was set to go ahead, everyone should travel as normal, but then the planes were grounded and no one was going anywhere.

Jenson watched the harbour over the next couple of days as it emptied, the rich taking their yachts in search of somewhere unaffected by the sickness. He knew that they wouldn't find it. Within weeks Monte Carlo was a ghost town.

Jenson didn't see the point of running when there was nowhere to run to. He was grateful not to be alone. He and Dan and Nico and Lewis took over the top floor of one of Monaco's most exclusive apartment buildings. The infected couldn't climb the stairs and they had a rooftop swimming pool. Things could be a whole lot worse.

They weren't too worried when the electricity shut off but the water proved to be a problem. The trek for supplies was a long one; just climbing the stairs down to street level was exhausting, and water was heavy to drag back up. It wore them down, but they had a pool table and views of the ocean. They didn't talk about the things they missed.

They had a satellite phone and they could chat to Mark and some of the other guys in England to break up the monotony and cabin fever. They never managed to get anyone else on the line, even though Jenson had sometimes stayed up all night, mashing the keypad. When he was particularly lonely and sleep deprived he thought maybe Mark was just a figment of his imagination and he was never really talking to anyone.

But Jenson liked to look on the bright side. Without the light pollution he could see hundreds of stars, thousands maybe. He'd stretch out by the pool at night and stare up at them and know that he was tiny but it wouldn't scare him. He felt safe, right in the middle of the universe, like a blanket wrapped around him. Their days might be numbered, but humans had been given a pretty good go at it. He tried to be grateful and he closed his eyes and he told himself he wasn't afraid.

 

_Unwanted transformation_

_Mark_

If there was one person you wanted with you at the end of the world it was Adrian Newey, and Mark had him. He was the heart of their little community, even though he usually kept to himself, head down working on some project. Thanks to him they had a pump system to bring water from the stream into the house and a generator set up for when they needed power, though they'd learned to use it sparingly. What they had was a finite resource, going out for fuel was getting more dangerous, and so they sat by candlelight and they made their own entertainment.

The kids were good at that. Mitch had come over to Mark's house as soon as the first news story broke and they'd sat together, Mitch texting constantly on his phone as Mark flicked through news channels, trying to find something other than the same confused stories that seemed fuelled by speculation rather than fact. Alex was at the door not long after and so the three of them sat and over the next couple of weeks their numbers slowly grew.

Mark never turned anyone away. He had plenty of room and he was willing to offer shelter to anyone in need, especially after he saw his first transformation. The man was old, a slow moving target Mark assumed and he hated himself for thinking it. He was laid by the side of his road, blood oozing from his neck. His complexion was pale, almost green, his skin shiny and sickly looking. He was groaning in pain and Mark got out of the car and stood over him and he didn't know what to do. He listened to the wheezing breaths, looked into the terrified eyes, and he knew that death would be a mercy but he didn't have it in him to do that.

The man rasped out the word _go_ but Mark shook his head, pulled himself together, and he crouched by the man, trying to offer him some measure of comfort. A softness came over his eyes but then they soon went wide and Mark could see something shifting and taking over. The change came before death, of that he was certain. The man reached out to him and Mark flinched back, afraid. He's still ashamed of that.

He could see the struggle in the final moments of death and then he saw it reborn as something else. A hand reached raggedly towards him, lacking purpose yet filled with menace, and Mark fled, jumping back in his car and speeding away down the empty road. When he got back to the house the atmosphere of a sleepover was lost to him and he knew the survival of all of them depended on this place.

After that he rounded people up, offered as many of them as he could shelter, but most people chose to flee. Once the dead outnumbered the living he stopped leaving the house. The kids were more than happy to go on supply runs, eager to do their part, not nearly afraid enough of what was out there. Mark felt guilty every time he let them leave and he counted the minutes until they came back.

Adrian kept him sane, made him feel like they still had some measure of control. He had his projects and he talked Mark through them and somehow there was order within the chaos. Mark asked him one night, as Adrian sketched by candlelight, why he'd come here.

"Where would you expect me to go?" Adrian asked.

"Why go anywhere?" Mark countered. "You could have done all this at your own house."

"Sanity comes from other people," Adrian told him. "And I'm not getting any younger. This seems like a good place to build a legacy."

Mark had nodded. The kids weren't the best students right now but he had a feeling it would come, when the trappings of their old lives fell away.

 

_Lost childhood_

_Max_

Jos had always made sure that Max could never count on him. How were you ever going to fend for yourself if your daddy did everything for you? As Max looked up from the bloodied face in front of him he could tell that lesson was still ongoing.

Making their way by foot was dangerous but all the roads were blocked and it seemed like the quickest way to get out of Milton Keynes. The city was a mess, the virus had taken almost everybody, and it had been on the news of course, but Max had no idea it could happen so fast. They'd been doing race preparations at the factory but Max could tell now that, no matter what the FIA said, they weren't going to be racing this weekend.

They headed out of the open, into the woods, and it offered them refuge for a while. Carlos stuck with them as they weaved their way between the trees and Max was glad to have him there; it made things feel more balanced somehow. They were deep in the forest when they came across the group of infected.

Max had quick reflexes but Jos got to the branch first, swinging it wildly, and Max stepped back, right into the grasp of ragged fingernails and bloodshot eyes. He fought back, stumbling on the uneven ground, his back connecting hard with a sturdy tree trunk. He looked up at Jos, their eyes meeting, and Jos wasn't fighting anymore, he'd defeated his foes, the branch hanging limply in his hand. He wasn't going to save Max. If Max was going to survive in this world he was going to need to prove himself fast.

The grip on his sweatshirt was strong but Max yanked the fingers away, hooking his leg around the infected man's ankles and knocking his feet from under him. Fuelled by rage over fear he stared at Jos as he stamped on the man's head. Jos gave a curt nod of approval.

"Let's go." With his branch still in his hand he turned away.

"We, uh..." Carlos started, coming to stand awkwardly by Max's side.

"What?" Max prompted.

Carlos reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "We should go to Mark's. Mitch has been sending me messages."

Max grabbed his phone, looking through the texts. Safety in numbers seemed like the best plan right now and the last thing he wanted to do was walk aimlessly through the woods with Jos. "Good idea," he agreed.

Jos was staring at the two of them critically. "We don't need to go there. We can find our own way."

"It's shelter," Max said. "There's other people. We can come up with a plan."

"You're going to count on other people your whole life?" Jos challenged.

"Only the ones who deserve it," Max returned. He turned to Carlos, handing back his phone. "Come on."

As they began to walk he could hear Jos' footsteps behind them and it felt good to be in the lead for once.

 

_Loss of possessions_

_Toto_

The radio broadcasts were the last lines of communication to go. Toto and Susie would sit at the breakfast bar in their kitchen, hunched over the old radio, because it never occurred to either of them that they could move it to a more comfortable location.

The broadcasts were intermittent and sometimes just out of focus enough that it hurt your ears straining to listen. There were safety announcements, warnings telling people to stay off the streets, to lock themselves in their homes, that soldiers would come. No one ever knocked on their door.

And then they heard the first message about the camp. It was repeated every hour, the co-ordinates for sanctuary.

"Do you think..." Susie began, looking at Toto uncertainly.

"We can't stay here," he responded.

They were lucky. Toto had always loved the location of their house; out in the country enough to be private and peaceful but close enough to town that they never felt cut off. He was fairly sure this was what kept them safe during the first wave, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before things got worse and their idyll would be invaded. Supplies were already low. They were running out of options.

Still, they were afforded the luxury of time to get their lives into boxes, to pack up the car, to take camping and survival equipment they'd used on overpriced adventure holidays. Toto had always known he was fortunate, that his money and position came with privileges he'd always tried not to take for granted but inevitably had. You get used to a certain lifestyle. You forget that you're special.

Part of Toto didn't believe that the camp really existed, but they set off early one morning and by nightfall they were at a fenced perimeter, armed guards surrounding the chain link and barbed wire. They were processed quickly and allowed into the military base.

Everyone inside looked lost. The soldiers knew that their job was to keep the monsters out but no one knew what to do with the refugees inside the walls. The first few nights everyone slept on the mess hall floor. Toto and Susie had their sleeping bags. Many weren't so lucky.

"I have a confession to make," Susie told him, but Toto's eyes were already on the family she'd been speaking with most of the morning.

"Is that our tent?" he asked knowingly.

"They have little kids," Susie explained. "Two under three. They can't be in there with everyone else."

Toto nodded. "They should have it."

"We need a more permanent solution," Susie went on. "No one's looking at the big picture. The barracks are full already and the soldiers need them, they're working hard, but what about everyone else? We can't all sleep on that floor forever."

"I'm sure they're working on it," Toto said.

"No they're not," Susie insisted. She was right of course.

Toto was supposed to be the boss. He was used to being in charge, solving problems, making sure the wheels turned and the trophies kept coming. This was out of his area of expertise. It was out of anyone's area of expertise. Susie wasn't the kind of person who let a little thing like that stop her.

Two days later she was introducing him to a couple of friends who'd spent a summer with Habitat for Humanity. The forests around them were full of natural building materials and there were plenty of tools on the base. Spring was turning into summer and it was getting warmer every day. For now, temporary shelters would turn the place from disaster relief to the beginnings of a community, giving them time to work on something more permanent before the weather got cold.

Getting a team together wasn't so hard; not with Susie's charm and the fraught boredom that came with safety so close to tragedy. A couple of weeks into the new build some familiar faces turned up at the camp and Toto was glad to have some tiny sense of normalcy.

Christian, Sebastian and Kimi turned up together, laden with bags, because they were lucky, just like Toto and Susie were. They had parted with most of their possessions since they arrived at the camp though. It was heartbreaking, seeing all the people who'd lost everything, who had no time to calmly pack up their cars before they fled, who had been wandering lost before finally finding this place and some kind of salvation. The tent was the first thing to go but their other possessions soon started to tumble into other hands. Now they had a photo album, some clothes and their wedding rings. And each other.

 

** Now **

_Asphyxiation_

_Lewis_

The internal staircase is perpetually dark no matter the time of day or the sun shining down on the Riviera. They've propped doors open along the way so light can shine in from the corridors but it doesn't do much to lift the grimness. No light. No air. Lewis feels like he can't breathe. He's felt like that a lot lately.

Nico is a few stairs ahead of him, plodding along step by step. They're both weighed down with water and whatever supplies they could scavenge. Not much. It's feeling more and more like a death penalty and some days he just wishes it all to be over. The thought hits him hard in the chest, tightening like a vice, and he doesn't wish that, not at all. He wants to make it. He's running out of prayers.

On the next landing he drops everything he's carrying and spins to sit heavily on the steps. He's aware of Nico stopping, turning to face him, but he buries his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He listens to Nico's steps coming back down to the landing, his burdens dropped beside Lewis'.

"Are you okay?"

"I can't..." Lewis chokes out, and then he just shakes his head. "I can't."

He drops his hands down to his lap, staring at Nico's shoes. Nico looks up the stairwell.

"This is a good spot for a break."

He opens up one of the bags, taking out a water bottle. He offers it to Lewis who shakes his head. Nico shrugs and takes a swig, leaning against the wall. Lewis strokes a hand over his forearm, looking at his tattoos. His guardian angel. She didn't turn out to be much use. He bows his head down, chest still tight, and he doesn't feel like he's getting any air in, like someone's pressing down on his windpipe, nothing but a wheeze getting by.

"Deep breaths," Nico advises. He sounds so cool, not even slightly concerned about Lewis probably turning blue in front of him, and Lewis wishes his calmness was infectious. Nico cares but he doesn't worry. He's kept his head better than any of them have through this and Lewis can't tell if it's detachment or if he genuinely believes he's in control of any of this.

Lewis takes in shaky breaths, tries to stop them coming out as sobs. This stairwell is suffocating him. This town is suffocating him.

"It's hard work," Nico says. "The climb. All this baggage."

"Yeah," Lewis agrees, but he's pretty sure they're not talking about the same thing. He looks up at Nico. "I can't do this for much longer."

"We'll hang out here as long as you need," Nico assures him.

"Nico," Lewis says, the word coming out like a plea. "I can't."

"Drink some water," Nico tells him, shoving the bottle at him and not taking no for an answer this time. Lewis accepts it, takes a swig.

"I feel like I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die," Nico dismisses.

Lewis gives him a look. "We're all going to die."

Nico's lips turned into an amused smile. "Not in the next ten minutes."

Lewis looks down, playing with the bottle in his hands. "What about Switzerland?"

"Switzerland?" Nico asks, looking puzzled.

"The camp," Lewis reminds him.

Nico shakes his head. "We don't even know if there's anything there."

"There's nothing here," Lewis states, and that note of hysteria is back in his voice. "I can't sit up there in that fucking penthouse and pretend that everything's fine! How long do you think we can keep this up? Really? You're smart, man, be fucking realistic."

Nico scuffs the toe of his trainer against the concrete floor and Lewis' heart drops. If Nico thinks they're fucked he might as well jump off the roof right now. His airway constricts and he feels his whole body go hot.

"Not in the next ten minutes," Lewis repeats to himself. He looks up at Nico. "In the next ten days? The next ten weeks?"

Nico shrugs, not quite looking at him. Lewis stands up, lunging forward, grabbing hold of Nico's wrist.

"Switzerland," he says again, like it's some kind of prayer.

Nico meets his eyes and he's finally lost his cool.

 

_Heart trouble_

_Christian_

If there's one thing Christian loves about the new world order it's the fact that he is in charge of absolutely nothing. He admires Susie and Toto for what they're doing, he knows that it needs to be done, but with everything that's happened he's happy to be a spectator.

That first day, when they arrived, Susie and Toto were building shelters, sweaty and happy as they came to greet them, and it was like hugging a driver who's just won a Grand Prix. Christian could tell instantly he was stepping into somebody else's world, something brand new, and that was fine by him. Maybe that meant he could be brand new too.

"It takes a village," Toto had said when asked about their contributions.

"That's to raise a baby," Susie told him.

"Close enough," Toto smiled, putting an arm around her.

Christian is happy to leave them to their building project. He chose to volunteer for gardening duty. If they're building a village they need a sustainable food source and he likes the methodical work. He aches at the end of the day but not in the same way as hefting lumber. He feels too old for that now. He feels altogether too weary for most things. The garden is quiet and quiet is what he craves. He didn't count on Sebastian volunteering for the same detail.

"Working hard, Toto?" Sebastian shouts as he walks past where the construction crew are working. They've moved on from the temporary structures that house the refugees, building permanent cabins that will hopefully see them all through the winter.

"I'm just the scaffolding," Toto responds, holding a timber in place. He nods towards Susie, balanced on a step-ladder, fixing things in place. "She's the muscle."

Sebastian laughs, pretends he's going to tickle Toto, then dodges away from Toto's leg, jogging towards the garden. Christian watches him and he feels the way he's always felt around Sebastian. Lost.

It had been six months since Sebastian had left the team and Christian told himself that was enough time. Enough time to get over losing him; enough time for them to be something new.

It was his first time at Sebastian's house since the news that he was leaving for Ferrari, an afternoon to catch up, to work out where they stood away from the race track, away from the team, away from the world. Then the outbreak had happened and they were stuck together, a new type of Stockholm syndrome to put Christian's morals to the test.

Two weeks later, supplies running low, they were startled by a car horn outside. Sebastian went to the window, pulling the curtain aside, and laughed.

"It's Kimi."

Sebastian weaves his way through the lines of plants like a child and Christian shouldn't be as charmed by it as he is. Sebastian smiles, sitting down beside him. He picks up a trowel but he just plays with it, poking at the dirt, and Christian wonders for the millionth time why Sebastian even volunteered for this duty, he'd be much happier partaking in horseplay with Toto and the construction crew. The garden is for quiet contemplation and Sebastian's never been very good at that. Focussed, yes, but he can never resist cracking a terrible joke.

Quiet contemplation is what Christian needs right now, what he craves, and the fact that the man sitting beside him is the one he needs to contemplate isn't helping. He edges away from Sebastian, angling his body away, tending to his saplings. He's always loved the outdoors, nature, animals. They don't judge. The only animals here are for food and Christian's not about to become a vegetarian but he's also not getting attached.

Sebastian was too young when they first met, and then he was too successful and Christian would have looked like he wanted payback for all those championships, as though Sebastian owed him. Their roles became set in stone, Christian as Sebastian's protector, trying to stop his team from falling apart, trying so desperately to hold it all together. He could hardly have expected anything to happen in the middle of all that; it would have sent Mark off the deep end and the team would have imploded for good. Things were calmer with Dan but then he had to work so hard at not playing favourites, not making the same mistakes again. When Sebastian left, Christian had no right to him. Or maybe, for the first time, they were exactly where they needed to be.

It's too late now. The world isn't there anymore, not in any real sense, and who does he think he is to expect Sebastian to reciprocate now. It hurts, in his chest, in a real physical way, that he missed his chance. He's not a romantic, he doesn't believe in star crossed lovers, but timing is everything and Christian was always too busy pulling everything together for everyone else to get it right for himself. Maybe 'in another life' would have been a comfort to him once but now it's like a sick joke.

"If we suck at this is everyone going to die?" Sebastian asks lightly.

"Probably," Christian responds glumly.

Sebastian nudges his shoulder and Christian turns, bracing himself for that goofy grin, but Sebastian's expression is serious. It forces Christian's guard down and he's sure everything from the last eight years is written all over his face. He feels so needy and yet he needs so badly for Sebastian not to suffer, to not take on burdens that aren't his.

"You've got to put love into it," Sebastian says, turning back towards the plants. "That's the key."

Christian's always put love into it. It's never gotten him very far.

 

_Bullet wounds_

_Alex_

They use the bikes for supply runs. They're fast and quiet and don't require fuel. It also gives them a chance to blow off some steam after being cooped up in that place. Mark has a gym in his house but it's a tiny space, they squabble over the equipment and it doesn't really help as much as it should. Alex craves the wind in his hair like he used to crave sex. Every problem he had as a teenager seems so stupid now.

"Be careful," Mark tells them as they gear up.

"Yes, dad," Mitch responds sarcastically but they share a very real hug. It's funny how Mitch is simultaneously further from and closer to home than any of them.

Jos, in contrast, isn't nearly so fatherly, glowering at them out of the window rather than coming to say goodbye to Max, and if Alex is honest the guy totally gives him the creeps. He can poison the whole atmosphere in a room just by stepping into it. No wonder Max gives zero fucks about anything; nothing can be scarier than his dad.

As they set off, Simba runs alongside them, as grateful for the fresh air as they are. The dogs take it in turns to go out on runs, the other one staying to protect the house. They're the best early warning system, easily able to pick up the scent of the infected but fast enough to avoid danger. Alex always appreciates having them around.

They speed down the lanes, racing each other, and Alex has biked these roads enough before that he could almost believe this was any other early morning ride with Mitch, before the rest of the world has woken up. The sky stretches blue right to the horizon, a crispness in the air that will fade as the day progresses. The universe still works the way it always has, and it shows the vanity of man that Alex feels like it shouldn't.

They come to a clumsy halt as they round the next corner. Simba whimpers, cocking his head, looking intrigued rather than afraid.

The man is slumped by the side of the road, red blooming from his abdomen. His legs are splayed awkwardly and he looks like a broken doll. Alex can hear the others talking behind him but he gets off his bike, moving closer.

"Alex," Mitch calls.

Alex shakes his head, laying his bike down and picking up his pace. "I don't think he's sick." The rise and fall of his chest looks too even, his complexion looks normal if pale, and Simba isn't afraid. Simba is always the first to run. Smart dog.

"Alex," Mitch says again, grabbing his arm, but Alex shrugs him off, moving faster.

The man looks up at him, eyes pleading but afraid. "Shot," he rasps out.

Alex drops to his knees, pressing his hands against the man's abdomen, suddenly squeamish when he feels the extent of it. He expected a neat little hole but bullets rip flesh apart. He presses down harder, ignores the man's cry of pain, though realistically he knows he can't make this better. Even if they had a way to get him back to the house they're not equipped for this.

"I don't... I don't think..." Mitch is stammering behind him.

Alex just clenches his jaw and tries not to cry or throw up. He's not doing any good but he can't be doing any harm. Maybe knowing somebody tried is enough. Maybe not bleeding out all alone is some kind of comfort. Alex shakes his head and whispers apologies. Dead bodies feel so different to live ones. It's instantaneous, all movement and life stopped.

He gets unsteadily to his feet, staring down at his hands. They're bright red and it doesn't look real. He's dizzy, surrounded by white noise, the realisation that has been teetering on the edge of his consciousness since he heard that one word slamming suddenly down on him. _Shot._ Alex has never had any trouble fighting monsters. People killing people is something he's not ready for.

Water splashes over his hands and Alex flinches, looking up at Mitch who's emptying his water bottle over the mess coating Alex's hands.

"Don't waste it," Alex tells him.

Mitch shakes his head. "We're going back."

"We didn't get the supplies," Alex says.

"We're going back," Mitch repeats firmly.

Alex turns to see Carlos and Max already on their bikes. He nods his head and lets Mitch help him clean up. Nobody else needs to see this.

 

_Captivity_

_Daniel_

The ground is a long way down. Dan leans against the railings that surround the rooftop pool area, letting it hold his weight as he stares down at the ground. You can always tell the infected by the way they walk, shuffling and deadened, so different from the walking wounded he used to see in the beginning. Now there's not much of anything to see down there. A ghost town. Sometimes he thinks they're the ghosts.

With a sigh, he grabs hold of the railings and leans his weight backwards instead, staring out at the horizon. It's such a beautiful view, a millionaire's playground. He remembers when he first came here, a Red Bull contract and the keys to a Monaco apartment in his pocket, and he felt like he'd really made it. How ironic that it's become his prison.

He hears the door open and close behind him, listening to the footsteps that make their way across the deck. He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is. The four of them have built an intimacy between them and he can recognise each of them with his back turned.

Jenson comes to stand beside him, following his gaze out over the city. "It's a nice day."

"I want to swim in the ocean," Dan says, his eye fixed on the glittering blue harbour.

"You can try," Jenson says. "Don't fancy your chances of getting out again if they spot you."

Dan sighs, spinning around to rest against the railing, staring at the pool. The water's no good anymore, not without circulation, and they keep taking buckets out to make the toilet flush. It'll run dry some day, like everything else. He wonders if they'll still be here then.

"I miss the ocean," he murmurs.

"It's right there," Jenson points out.

Dan shakes his head. "That's worse than it being a thousand miles away. If I can't touch it, what's the point? Cruel and unusual punishment."

"Well at least you're focussing on the things that really matter," Jenson responds.

Dan gives him a withering look but he can't help the grin that spreads over his face. He shakes his head, turning to look at the view again. "What stupid thing do you miss?"

Jenson looks thoughtful, staring into the middle distance. He's quiet for a long time and then the door opens behind them again.

"Hey, guys," Lewis calls out.

Dan and Jenson turn to see Lewis and Nico standing beside each other. Something about it looks very staged and it instantly makes Dan nervous.

"We, uh..." Lewis tries. He turns to Nico and they exchange a very loaded look.

"You're getting married?" Dan guesses.

Lewis and Nico look at him like he's an idiot. Jenson snorts a laugh.

"We're leaving," Lewis says. "We're going to Switzerland."

"To the camp?" Jenson asks. Lewis nods his head. "That may or may not exist?" Jenson adds pointedly.

"I don't see a very good alternative, man," Lewis responds.

Dan stares down at Lewis' garish trainers and he feels things start to unravel. It's funny how certain he is all of a sudden that he doesn't want to go, that he wants to stay no matter the cost. This place might be his prison but he knows exactly what it holds in store for him. The heartbeat of the city is fading, the arteries running dry, but Dan doesn't feel like it has any surprises to throw at him.

"We talked about it for a long time," Nico explains. "We want to try."

"You do realise you're the brains of this operation," Jenson tells him. "We're probably going to die if you leave us."

"Come with us," Nico says.

Jenson looks at Dan and Dan looks back, trying to keep his face neutral. He should sleep on this. He should at least entertain the possibility. He feels like the only decision he has to make is whether he could really stay here all on his own though.

"We're going to load up the Zonda tomorrow morning," Lewis says.

Nico turns to face him. "We're not taking the Zonda."

"Why not?" Lewis asks.

"It's not very practical," Nico responds.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to take your dad's minivan instead?" Lewis counters.

"My dad's not from Stevenage, he doesn't drive a minivan," Nico dismisses. "My dad's a world champion."

"Your dad and I have that in common," Lewis says smugly.

Nico lunges for him and they start wrestling precariously close to the edge of the pool. It's so absurd, a pathetic attempt at masculinity, except they don't look like they're actually trying to hurt each other, so maybe it's a pathetic attempt at touching each other up.

"You two are going to kill each other before you ever get to Switzerland," Dan says, trying to break the tension.

"No, this is how they act when they're friends," Jenson tells him. "Reminds me of the good old days."

Nico and Lewis separate, straightening their clothing and throwing looks at each other, but Jenson's right, there's clear affection behind it all; two kids who grew up karting and wrecking hotel rooms and not being afraid of anything. There's fear in their actions now though and that scares Dan more than anything.

His plan to sleep on the decision is difficult to execute when he can't actually sleep. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, or where he knows the ceiling is. The darkness is so complete he can't make out his own hand in front of his face. He wonders if this is what it's like to not exist.

His legs feel restless and the questions are just spiralling endlessly around in his head. Is there really a camp in Switzerland? Who is it run by and is it really safe? Maybe it's a forced labour camp or something even more sinister. How bad are things out there? How many people have survived? Are the roads even clear enough to drive on?

He imagines abandoned vehicles, hoards of infected, nowhere to run. If he stays here alone how long will he last before he goes crazy? He has the phone, he can talk to Mark and Mitch and Carlos and Max and Adrian, but how long before he's just talking to himself? How long before he throws himself off the roof? How long before he drowns himself in the ocean because getting back out stopped being an option?

He kicks the covers off, grabbing one of the blankets and moving through the darkness by memory. It's a full moon and so he can just make out Jenson's silhouette on one of the sun loungers when he gets outside. He hesitates in the doorway.

"You couldn't sleep either?" Jenson asks.

Dan responds by going to lie on the sun lounger beside him. The stars stretch on forever, crowding the night sky, and it makes him feel a little bit calmer, breathing fresh air into his lungs.

"What do you think's in Switzerland?" Dan asks.

"Clocks?" Jenson suggests. "Toblerone?"

"Life?" Dan asks. "A camp?"

"A wild goose chase?" Jenson responds. He turns on his side to look at Dan. "I'm not going."

Dan half sits up, looking sharply at him. "You're not?"

"I can't," Jenson tells him. "I know I probably should but..." He trails off, shaking his head, and then lies back on the sun lounger. "This is working for me. I mean, it could be better, but it could be a lot worse."

"I'm not going either," Dan tells him.

"But what about the ocean?" Jenson asks.

"Switzerland's landlocked," Dan responds. "Learn some fucking geography."

Jenson grabs the pillow from behind his head and throws it at Dan who catches it and tosses it back a little too hard.

"They might have a lake for you," Jenson says. "I thought you wanted out."

"I don't know what I want," Dan responds. "But I don't want to go to Switzerland."

Jenson nods, settling back down. "Good," he says decisively. "That might be totally selfish of me, but good."

"I'm feeling pretty selfish about the whole thing myself so I think we're even," Dan says.

"Good," Jenson agrees.

Dan grins. "Good."

 

_Body image issues_

_Mitch_

They play poker for pennies. Mitch wishes they could find some plastic chips somewhere because the coppery smell gets all over his hands and he hates it. Still, it passes the time, just absorbing enough to distract them, just inconsequential enough to not give them anything extra to worry about.

Carlos is dealing, doing some fancy shuffle he learned from Fernando, and Mitch is half-expecting it to turn into a magic trick. Instead he passes the cards out with a flick of his wrist that makes him look like a professional. Mitch can barely see his hand in the dim light of the flickering candles.

Max is staring into the centre of the table, looking through the river cards rather than at them, an intensity about him that breaks Mitch out of his own contemplation. He's so still, not even blinking, and Mitch isn't sure he wants to know what's going on in his head.

Carlos nudges him, indicating that it's his go. Max gives possibly the heaviest sigh Mitch has ever heard and tosses his cards away. Mitch doesn't think he's even looked at them.

"That bad, huh?" Adrian asks. He tosses a couple of pennies in.

Mark taps the table top and throws in a couple of pennies of his own, leaning back in his seat. Mitch can tell he has a good hand, he's so fucking obvious. He considers his own cards, wondering if they'll hold up.

"Are we going to talk about getting a gun?" Max blurts out. "Are we going to bring that up ever, or..."

He looks around the table expectantly. Mitch avoids eye contact with him and Alex and Carlos suddenly find the tabletop very fascinating as well. Mark leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"A gun?" he asks carefully.

Max holds two fingers up to make the shape. "Bang bang."

"Yeah," Mark says vaguely, clearly wondering if Max has lost his mind. "Why do we need a gun?"

Max appeals to the others again, looking from one to the other, but it becomes quickly clear that no one is about to back him up. He gets to his feet with a noise of exasperation, shaking his head. "Okay. Great. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He storms out of the room and Mitch suddenly becomes very aware of Jos standing in the shadows at the edge of the room, watching over all of them critically. He leaves to follow Max and Mitch hopes that he doesn't suddenly feel like having a heart to heart with his son.

"What was that about?" Mark asks, the question directed squarely at Mitch. Mitch shrugs. Mark gives him a look.

"I told you, we had a close call the other day," Mitch says, pretending to consider his cards. "On that supply run, the hoard. I guess it spooked him. I don't think a gun would help." He shifts his pennies around with his finger and that's when he realises Alex is gone. "I'm out," he says, tossing his cards aside as he gets to his feet.

He knows exactly where he'll find Alex. He raps his knuckles on the bathroom door, leaning his head against it to hear the sound of running water.

"You okay in there, Lady Macbeth?"

"It's open," Alex calls back.

Mitch lets himself in, closing the door and sliding the lock into place. Alex is bent over the sink, rubbing at his fingers.

"It's under my nails," Alex says. "I'm not just being crazy, it's dried under my nails, I can't get it out because the water's not hot enough."

"I know," Mitch says softly.

Alex sighs and shuts the tap off, wiping his hands on a towel. He turns to face Mitch. "What happened?"

Mitch shakes his head. "It's fine. Probably."

Alex looks away, pulling at the towel in his hands. "Maybe Max is right. Maybe we should tell."

"It'll be okay," Mitch tells him. "We don't know what happened to that guy."

"Yeah, maybe he deserved to have his guts spilled all over the road," Alex responds, throwing the towel aside. "It could be us next time."

"It won't be," Mitch insists.

"Why not?" Alex asks, desperation cracking his voice. "We're not superheroes. We're not special. We're just a bunch of stupid kids who think we're invincible. But we're not."

Mitch moves closer, holding out his hands. "Let me take a look."

Alex sags, holding his hands out to Mitch. He can't see much in the candlelight, but just holding some part of Alex makes him feel better so he looks for as long as Alex will let him. Eventually Alex tugs him in closer, wrapping his arms around him, and Mitch happily rests against his chest.

"I know I need to stop wasting water," Alex mumbles. "I shouldn't stress the pumps. I just feel so unclean all the time."

"Let's do our bit to help then," Mitch says, lifting up his head to look at him. "Conserve a bit of water." He shifts onto his tiptoes, brushing a kiss against Alex's lips, and then he slips out of his arms, turning his attention to the shower pump.

It's a laborious task, manually pumping the water up into the system, but Mitch is just grateful that they have it this easy. It could be so much worse. Alex pulls his shirt over his head and Mitch can't help but watch. He's always been taller than Mitch, all arms and legs and sex appeal, but the more time that passes the more differences Mitch notices between them. He tries but he's not as in shape as he was and weight sticks to him so much more easily than it seems to stick to Alex. It seems petty to be jealous about something so vain, to be self-conscious about his looks while the world literally falls apart around them.

He steps away from the pump, Alex naked now, stepping into the shower. Mitch waits until he's turned away, stripping quickly and then placing one hand on the shower screen for guidance as he leans over to blow out the candle.

Alex is right, the water doesn't get warm, but it's refreshing and they can make their own heat. He finds Alex's body, finds his head, finds his mouth. He likes the darkness, the chance to hide, the chance to discover and play like a kid. Alex's hands slide down his sides and he sucks them in.

"Stop," Alex breathes.

"What?"

Alex takes Mitch's hand, guides it to his hard cock. "You're hot. Trust me."

Mitch presses him against the wall, filled with need, and maybe if they can believe each other's lies as well as they believe their own then they can make it through this.

 

_Grief_

_Carlos_

He should have left earlier. After his simulator session he was supposed to catch a plane to Spain, to his family, but instead of going straight to the airport he stayed to watch Max take his turn and then the whole world fell apart. Even if he'd left when he was supposed to he doubted it would have made a difference, the planes were grounded, but he really should have tried harder.

If he's honest with himself he didn't really stay out of competitiveness to see Max's data or because teamwork was important. He stayed because he was fascinated by the way Jos watched his son's progress. There was an intensity to him, a rigidness that was almost scary, and as he critically eyed Max's progress Carlos felt like he could learn to see the laps like he did, as though there was a secret to be revealed.

And now he's stuck in England with no way to ever get home. He knows he's luckier than most but it's not much of a consolation when he sees Jos and Max and he misses his own father so much it hurts. It's such a strange feeling, grieving for someone who might not be dead; holding out hope for someone who might be a monster now.

The satellite phone has never been any use to him. It's nice to be in touch with the guys in Monaco, it offers a sense of normalcy that they can almost fool themselves with, but Carlos can't use it to phone his dad and tell him he loves him; not even one last time.

They do have an old radio transmitter though and the open line of communication it offers gives Carlos much more hope. He doesn't need a specific number to dial, he just has to find the right frequency. When Mark isn't using the office he doesn't mind Carlos sitting in there long into the night, turning the dials and speaking Spanish into the microphone, hoping to get in touch with someone who can give him some answers about his family. At this point he craves closure more he craves good news. If he could mourn maybe he could heal.

There's so little interference now, no digital communication clogging up the airwaves, and so his radio transmissions can travel uninterrupted much further than they would have done with wifi and 3G bouncing the molecules around in unpredictable ways. Now he imagines clear skies as he closes his eyes and repeats the same desperate phrases over and over until they become a bore.

He used to get in touch with a lot of people but there's hardly anyone around now. Maybe they don't have a power source like he does, maybe they've run out of batteries and they don't have a genius and an emergency generator. Or maybe they're all gone.

He doesn't know what happened to that man on the side of the road. He doesn't know if there are bad men out there, if they should be worried. He doesn't know if they're the only civilised ones left. All he wants is for his dad to hold him and tell him it's okay, he'll look after him. He remembers the way that Jos followed Max after he stormed out of the card game earlier tonight and he doubts that he was about to offer comfort but in his head that's what happens. Jos is a dad; that's what dads do.

He places the microphone down on the desk and switches the radio off. There's no one tonight, not a single soul to answer his call. He lets out a shuddery breath and tries desperately not to let it turn into a sob. He can't cry for them, not until he knows for sure. Maybe he can cry for himself though.

 

_Nightmares_

_Jenson_

Now that it's just the two of them, Jenson is even more aware of keeping quiet at night. He doesn't want to inflict his insomnia on anyone else and if they're going to get through this at least one of them should be well rested.

That's why he's laid on the office floor with the satellite phone, as far away from Dan's bedroom as he can get. The carpet in here is utilitarian, unlike the luxurious rugs in the living room or the thick pile in Jenson's bedroom. It scratches at the backs of Jenson's bare arms as he stares up at the ceiling.

"They're keeping secrets like this is a fucking playground," Mark is saying. "And I'm letting them get away with it."

"If it was important they'd come to you," Jenson assures him.

"No they wouldn't," Mark responds. "Because they know I don't want to know." He sighs heavily, a broken sound. "I'm supposed to be taking care of them."

"You're not responsible for them," Jenson tells him. "You call them kids, but they're not."

"They're all here because of me," Mark insists. "I brought them all here."

"They're there because you have a house," Jenson points out. "And Adrian Newey, so by extension running water and a power system and probably a cure for cancer if you give him a couple more weeks."

Mark sighs again and Jenson can hear him shifting. "Mate, if I can ever get my hands on enough fuel and a clear run to the heli, you're my first stop."

"I'm flattered," Jenson says dryly. "Nico and Lewis are gone so it's just a ride for two now."

"Gone?" Mark asks. It's a loaded word.

"To Switzerland," Jenson tells him.

"The camp," Mark says knowingly.

"Yeah," Jenson agrees. "The camp."

There's a silence. Jenson tilts his head back to try and see the stars through the window but the flickering light of his candle reflects shapes back at him. Whether Nico and Lewis make it or not, Jenson's sure he'll never hear from them again. Nico took a folded piece of paper with the satellite phone number on it but Jenson's not holding his breath. It's the same with Mark, he can talk about swooping in here with his helicopter like some hero but it's meaningless. His voice is right in Jenson's ear but he might as well be on the moon.

"It's late," Mark says.

"What are you going to do when your watch battery runs out?" Jenson asks in a desperate bid to keep the conversation going. He doesn't want to be alone with the night just yet. Summer is coming to an end and it takes longer each day for the sun to return. He's starting to feel like one day it will just be gone forever.

Mark snorts a laugh. "I don't think it really matters what time it is anymore."

Jenson resists the urge to tell him that nothing matters anymore.

"Do you ever have nightmares?" Mark asks.

"I think I'd have to sleep for that to happen, wouldn't I?"

"Sometimes I wake up and I can't remember what I was dreaming about but I just have this... feeling. I wake up alone and I get scared that I'm the only person left in the world. There's no one there. Sometimes I just wish there was someone there."

Jenson shivers, goosebumps rising up on his flesh, and the scratchy carpet makes him twitch. Maybe Mark's bullshitting to make him feel better or maybe this is what everyone's scared of now. He's seen what those things can do to people. He's heard the screams coming up from the street and he's never been able to get them out of his mind. He has a feeling he can live through all of this though, so long as he doesn't have to do it alone.

"Find some fuel," Jenson tells him, even though he's always been in two minds about whether he'd really go.

"Get some sleep," Mark counters.

_I miss you._ The words are right there on the tip of his tongue. They don't say shit like that to each other though.

"I'll try," he says instead, a promise he's not sure he can keep.

He leans over, blows out the candle, and tilts his head back again, looking for the stars.

 

_Invisibility_

_Kimi_

If you look like you know what you're doing then people tend to leave you alone. Kimi has always been incredibly good at hiding in plain sight. He keeps his head down and he looks authoritative about whatever it is he's doing, even if it's having a nap or grabbing an ice cream, and no one questions him. The second you look like you're making a decision then people are desperate to give you their opinion, or worse, something to do.

Kimi has flown under the radar in this way for years. It's not always so easy in the paddock. When there's fans and press who are constantly interested in you then anonymity isn't an option, but if you never take your sunglasses off or break stride you can get by pretty well.

This place seems to work on an honour system and Kimi's not sure that's ever going to work out. Maybe it will evolve, civilisations aren't built overnight and that must be what this place is now, the first civilisation after the end of the world. It's all very utopian, people volunteering for work details, helping each other out, a community built on team work. Kimi wants to wait and see how it all plays out. Maybe then he'll be able to work out his place in the whole thing.

When he heard about the camp on the radio he knew it was his only chance for survival, the only chance any of them had to get through this, and his first thought was that Sebastian was smarter than him but smart wasn't always the thing that saved you in these situations. Kimi's hunch was right. Sebastian didn't have his radio on.

When Kimi had stepped into Sebastian's house, telling him they had to leave now, he saw Christian stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway and he knew that he was interrupting. The two of them exchanged a heated look and Kimi knew that there was one more way to be invisible; when two other people were concerned with each other. They didn't discuss it out loud but Kimi knew they were making the decision together anyway. Christian repacked his suitcase and Sebastian packed some things of his own. Kimi noted that Christian had apparently been staying in the guestroom and it surprised him. Even at the end of the world they couldn't get their shit together.

Kimi watches them sometimes, in the garden. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife and sometimes he wants to just slam their heads together. Sebastian is the only person who really bothers with Kimi, though Kimi is glad for the company. Sebastian can make him laugh and he never expects Kimi to be anyone but who he is. If Kimi is quiet Sebastian doesn't take it as an offence but just fills the gaps for him. Kimi's never had a friend who complements him quite like that. Sometimes Kimi thinks he should return the favour, give Sebastian the push he needs, but Sebastian needs to come to that on his own. It won't mean nearly as much if he doesn't.

And so Kimi doesn't resent this place and he's not opting out due to protest or laziness, but rather because he doesn't know where he fits. Susie wants to build something out of nothing, Toto wants a team behind him, Christian wants peace and quiet and Sebastian wants that same calmness to grow something more than plants. Kimi's not sure what he wants yet and he's not sure he'll find it by doing odd jobs. He wants to watch this place mature and grow and change and hope that somehow he ends up entwined in it too.

"Do you want to see a magic trick?"

Kimi looks up to see a little girl standing over him. "Okay," he agrees.

The little girl smiles at him and then holds out her hand to show him a rock. She closes her fist around it and then puts her hands behind her back before bringing them out again. "Where's the rock?"

Kimi dutifully points to the hand she originally placed it into. The little girl laughs and opens her now empty hand. She then opens her other hand, displaying the rock and looking incredibly triumphant.

Kimi holds his palm out and the girl tips the rock into it. Kimi pretends to consider it for a moment and then closes his fist around it, copying the girls movements before offering his hands out to her. She looks smug as she chooses the hand that _didn't_ have a rock in it. When she sees that it's empty she presses her lips into a pout and then taps his other hand. That's empty too. Kimi feigns surprise, peering at his own empty hands. The girl frowns and then she spies to rock that Kimi dropped as he placed his hands behind his back. She laughs, and gives him a shove before retrieving the rock.

"You cheated."

"No," Kimi dismisses. "It's magic."

The girl rolls her eyes and then skips away, calling out to her brother, and Kimi has a feeling she has a new version of her trick to show him.

 

_Vehicle crash_

_Lewis_

Nico convinced him not to take the Zonda. Lewis had to concede that a bigger car was more practical considering they were packing up their whole lives and anything else they might need to survive, but he still insisted they take something fast. Nico wasn't about to argue with that. They didn't want to be on the road for a second longer than they had to be. Without GPS, that's proving to be a harder task than Lewis anticipated.

They've got a variety of maps of the area and Nico marked on each one the location of the camp, or at least his closest approximation. They have the co-ordinates but they're not exactly orienteers. The sun is already irritatingly low in the sky, the light shining in at just the right angle to blind Lewis as he tries to make sense of where they are.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Nico asks.

"It's this way," Lewis insists, turning the map in his hands.

"This isn't the time for bravado," Nico tells him. "I don't want to die because you refuse to admit you can't read a map."

"I'm reading it, aren't I?" Lewis snaps back.

Nico glances over at him. "You're reading it upside down."

"How do you know?" Lewis grumbles, turning it again.

"I know because the sun sets in the west," Nico says.

"Well, why don't you read it your fucking self, smartypants?" Lewis responds, throwing it over at him.

Nico slams on the brakes, turning to glare at him. "Do you want to not throw things at me while I'm driving?"

"Do you want to not treat me like a five year old?" Lewis counters.

Nico unfastens his seatbelt, getting out of the car. "You drive," he says. "I'll navigate."

He slams the door shut and Lewis rolls his eyes and tries to resist the urge to call him a diva. Nico is probably biting his tongue trying not to call Lewis a brat. Lewis climbs out of the car, opening his door to Nico who is stood impatiently.

"We're nearly there," Lewis tells him. "I'm not that far off. We'll make it tonight."

Nico sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, and Lewis recognises that look from when they were teenagers. It's his _I want to stay mad at you but I love you too much_ look. Lewis has missed seeing that the last couple of years. He's missed a lot of things.

"I'll get us there," Nico agrees, nodding his head.

"I know you will, man," Lewis responds, patting Nico on the shoulder. "If anyone can, it's you."

They climb back into the car, Nico studying the map as Lewis turns the key in the ignition.

"You know, if I have to die with anyone, I'm glad it's you," Nico says, not looking up.

Lewis stares at him. "Is this a competition to say the least comforting thing we can think of?"

Nico gives a small laugh, looking up at him. "Why don't you try?"

"Okay," Lewis agrees, looking out the windscreen at the road ahead. "If those things do catch up with us, they're going to want to eat you first because your brain's bigger."

"Uh, Lewis," Nico says.

"What, man?" Lewis asks, looking up at him.

"You might want to go now," Nico says. "Quite quickly."

Lewis follows his gaze and sees a large group of the infected emerging from the surrounding countryside, heading straight for them.

"Yeah," Lewis agrees, feeling every hair on his skin stand up.

He floors the accelerator, grateful for the power of the engine beneath him. He knows how to drive under speed and adrenaline, he tells himself he has this under control, but his eyes are on the side of the road, looking for more of those things, and he doesn't expect the wall of traffic around the next corner.

The road is filled with abandoned cars and there's no way he can slow down in time. He hits the brake, steers for a gap by the edge of the road, but it's too uneven and the car goes over. They spin, sky and grass and sky and grass, everything inside the car thrown around, and Lewis is hit from every direction before they finally come to a stop, the car creaking on its roof.

Lewis instinctively goes for the centre of his body, the quick release of his racing belts, but there's nothing there and he panics, clawing at himself. His rosary swings down, hitting him in the face, and he takes that as a cue to breathe. He's alive. He needs to get out.

Remembering where he is he reaches to his side, finding the release for his seatbelt. It snaps open, dumping him unceremoniously onto the car roof. It's only then that he realises Nico isn't moving, that he hasn't made a sound. In the tight confines of the car Lewis can barely move to see him properly.

"Nico," he calls out, his voice raw and desperate. He hits him in the chest, the leg, wherever he can reach. "Nico!"

The windows are smashed and so he crawls out of the car, feeling like the world is still spinning. He looks around, tries to get his bearings. He can't see any of the infected but he knows they must be following, that their dragging feet will bring them this way soon enough. Maybe one of these cars works, he can repack it, they can carry on, they can still find the camp.

He crouches down and looks into the car. "Nico," he says, like a pleading child. "Come on, Nico, we have to go."

He crawls back inside but he has no idea what to do. The car could blow up, he should get Nico out. But what if there's a back injury? You shouldn't move people with a back injury. It's not like the paramedics are on their way though. No one is coming. Lewis is in this on his own.

"Please, Nico," he begs brokenly. "Come on, man. If you die, I die. You have to tell me what to do."

He hears something, an engine, and in his haste to get out of the car he bangs his head, heat radiating from the back of his skull as he flails to get out. He ignores the pain, forces himself out and up, looking out across the road. At the front of the gridlock there's a vehicle, something that looks army issue, and it's moving towards them.

"Hey," Lewis yells. "Hey!" He runs back to the road, climbs onto the nearest car and jumps up and down, waving his arms. "Over here! Please!"

The vehicle comes closer, easily bypassing the side of the road, handling the terrain that tipped their car over with ease, and Lewis feels something come over him all of a sudden, dropping him down to his knees.

 

_Loss of hearing_

_Mitch_

"When you have a bad crash you have to get straight back into the car again."

Alex had woken him in the middle of the night to impart that piece of wisdom and Mitch wasn't about to argue with his logic but there are much more pleasant ways to wake a man up. Still, being the supportive boyfriend he is, straight after breakfast he helps Alex to gear up the bikes so they can complete the supply run they had to abandon the other day.

Once they're out there, the fear bleeds away. It seems counterintuitive but within the safe walls of the house they have too much time to worry and think things over until they become huge and terrifying and you never want to step foot outside the door again. Outside, in the fresh air, it's hard to feel anything but alive.

It's just the two of them, they figure if they do come across any danger it's easier for two to slip away than four. Shadow is still a welcome fellow traveller though, enjoying his turn to stretch his legs. They stick to the back roads into town and by the time they get there it's difficult to remember what they were afraid of.

Everything is looted already, windows smashed, glass and discarded goods littering the street, but in the initial panic a lot of things got missed. Where the people who smashed these windows grabbed mindlessly at whatever they could find, Mitch and Alex are calm and methodical. Digging through the trashed aisles they can often find useful treasures that were missed and the stockrooms can often be goldmines. People who are panicked only grab what they can see.

They make easy work of their list, picking up whatever extras they can find. It's fun, going from shop to shop, tossing things to each other over the shelves, making a game of who can find things the quickest, who can find the higher value items. They're just finishing up in their last stop of the day, shoving packs of tic tacs into their already stuffed backpacks, when they hear Shadow growling near the front of the store.

Mitch and Alex exchange a look and grab their crowbars as they move forward, trying to see what they're up against. Any number of infected walking corpses would have been better than this. The men stride confidently up the middle of the road, the guns hanging off them like badges of honour, and Mitch instinctively puts his arm out to put Alex behind him.

Shadow makes a run for it and Mitch can see him turn the corner at the end of the road, clear and free, the men barely paying more than passing attention to him. He's clearly not what they're looking for. Mitch knows he'd never make it if he tried. Instead he grabs Alex by the front of his T-shirt, the two of them diving down in front of the windows, their backs to the quarter wall below the frames.

"Nice rides."

Mitch glances over to see the men inspecting their bikes. Fuck. They've got no chance of making an escape now. He looks over to Alex who shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

Mitch nods at him in response, trying to reassure him. "We can hide in the back," he whispers. Mitch goes to move, his weight going onto his right foot, but the broken glass crunches loudly under his shoe as he slides on it.

"You hear that, boys?" one of the voices booms, moving closer to them. "Crunch crunch, like the bones of my enemies."

Mitch and Alex exchange a look. This guy sounds more than a little deranged by whatever ordeal he's been through. Mitch knows the world isn't kind to any of them now but the last thing he wants is to make some psycho feel better by playing his punching bag. They slink down further, trying to hide, but the wall isn't tall enough, offering no real sense of protection.

"What do you think?" a second voice asks. They're on the other side of the car outside the window and Mitch knows they can't move without being seen, but one step closer and it will all be over anyway.

"Flush them out," the first voice orders.

Mitch listens carefully, a series of sounds that he can't identify, and then there's running footsteps. Mitch tenses, expecting the worst, but then he realises something. They're running the other way. He grabs Alex's wrist.

"Go!" he yells, not caring now who can hear him.

It's too late, the explosion hits their backs, knocking them and everything else in the shop flying. Mitch can feel the shockwave through his whole body, echoing in his head, and he waits a couple of seconds for it to stop but it doesn't, a dull, distant ringing sound the only thing he can hear, even his own ragged breaths lost to him.

He moves his jaw, trying to clear his ears, dust and debris settling all around him, catching in his mouth. He looks around, trying to see any sign of Alex, spotting his trainer poking out from one of the fallen shelves. He places his hands on the ground, tries to move towards him, but he finds himself lifted into the air and he's so disorientated he can't work out what's happening. Maybe he can fly now.

He's dumped unceremoniously on his arse against one of the interior walls. His head reels and he feels like he's going to throw up. One of the men gets in his face, his mouth moving, but all Mitch can hear is the ringing and muffled sounds that make indistinct shapes in his head rather than words. He gives up on trying to understand and looks to Alex instead, seeing the shelf lifted off him by two more men.

A slap across his face feels like an electric shock through his brain. The man is speaking again but Mitch just shakes his head helplessly. The man grits his teeth and then Mitch is lifted again, dragged out of the shop.

"Alex," he cries out, the word feeling like it's splitting his brain in two.

 

_Dubious consent_

_Jos_

Mark hasn't left the window for hours. It's dark out now and Jos doubts he can see anything but his own reflection. He has a feeling he'll keep his vigil all night.

He wanders through to the kitchen where he can hear Carlos' voice filter through from the office. He leans against the wall, listening to the repeated words in Carlos' native tongue, sounding every bit the lost little boy that he is. There's something about Carlos, those big eyes, the way he literally looks up at people through his eyelashes. Jos is drawn to him.

Carlos is co-dependent, constantly seeking approval, looking for someone to tell him what to do. He misses his daddy and that pathetic neediness that would inspire derision in Jos if it was coming from Max just makes Carlos all the more attractive to him. It's almost too easy.

Jos has always taught Max to stand on his own two feet, to make things happen for himself. He recognises the way Max looks at him, knows he feels hard done by, but if Jos had given him a soft place to land then Max would have been all too comfortable falling back into him. He raised Max to be a fighter and he's a stronger person for it. Max's success is part revenge against Jos and part a desperate attempt to impress him. Jos couldn't be prouder.

Carlos though, soft Carlos who was encouraged instead of challenged, who was coddled instead of pushed. Jos can see the appeal in being wanted. He saw it back in that simulator room in Milton Keynes, the way Carlos was watching him. He wants to please. Jos likes being pleased.

Carlos is so susceptible to kindness that it makes Jos glad he raised Max with balls. Max wouldn't accept the shoulder of a stranger so easily. Max wouldn't gaze at any potential father figure with dewy eyes. Max wouldn't let someone get inside his head. Jos is proud of him. He can't deny that his attention has been turning further towards Carlos every day though. Max doesn't need him, Jos has spent his whole life making sure of that. A new challenge is just what he needs.

He walks into the office and Carlos stops talking, looking up at him. His finger slips from the radio button.

"Sorry," he says. "Was I being loud?"

Those big eyes, that search for approval. Jos tilts his head.

"No. I was just checking on you."

Carlos forces a smile onto his lips but he casts his eyes downwards. Jos knows that he and Max know more about Mitch and Alex's failure to return than the rest of them do. Maybe he wants Jos to draw his secrets from him but Jos isn't really interested in that. Not right now. He steps closer to Carlos.

"It's late."

"I know," Carlos agrees, putting the microphone down on the desk. He looks up at Jos again, and Jos can't even imagine what question those eyes are asking. Jos reaches down, tucking a strand of hair behind Carlos' ear, fingers skimming his cheek as he pulls away. Carlos' eyes go soft and it makes Jos feel primal.

"You should go to bed," he tells Carlos. "Come on."

Carlos easily takes the hand he offers out and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Mark doesn't look away from the window as they pass through the living room behind him. Jos places a hand on the small of Carlos' back as they climb the stairs. He doesn't question it when Jos follows him into his room and closes the door behind them. He sits wearily on the bed with a heavy sigh.

"Shadow came back," he says. "So I'm sure nothing really bad happened to them."

Jos sits down beside him. Carlos wants to open up, it would only take a little pushing for him to spill all the details of what happened on their failed run, why Max has a sudden interest in firearms, but then the game would be over and Jos isn't done playing.

He reaches over to Carlos, placing two fingers under his chin and gently encouraging his face upwards. He looks up at Jos, big Bambi eyes, and Jos can feel him swallow. He stares back, gives Carlos the openness he craves, that fatherly affection. Carlos makes a little noise in his throat, his lips parting, and it's hardly any distance at all for Jos to kiss him.

He keeps it light, teasing almost, making Carlos chase him. Carlos does, pressing against him with a whimper, and this isn't the role he asked Jos to play but it's clear he'll take it. He'll take anything. He's all breathless and shivery as Jos pulls back, his eyes needy and apologetic and scared. Jos lifts the hem of Carlos' shirt, gives a little nod, and Carlos lifts it over his head for him. Jos pushes Carlos back onto the bed, covering his body with his own, pressing a thigh between his legs. Carlos shudders and stares at him, a silent question there. Jos doesn't want to answer so he kisses him again, grinds down against him.

It's not what Carlos asked for but adoration takes many forms.

 

_Drugged_

_Nico_

He feels hands pulling him from the car and he panics. He doesn't want to die this way, torn limb from limb and splattered across the road. He fights back, wills his arms and legs to move, but every single part of him hurts and then he finds himself pinned to the ground. He whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut, tensing for the inevitable.

The first tearing of flesh is on his arm, sharp like a razor rather than a ragged fingernail, and he cries out. I doesn't feel like it did in all those dreams that haunted him. A warmth comes over him and suddenly his whole body seems to be made of cotton wool. The hands release him and Nico tries to open his eyes but they roll back in his head, a flash of sunlight blinding him before it's gone.

He doesn't remember anything until a gentle rhythm rocks into his consciousness. He can't move but he's not sure whether he's physically restrained or if his body is letting him down. He's not sure if he has a body anymore. He thinks he can hear Lewis praying.

He remembers back in Monaco, the penthouse, hearing Lewis through his bedroom door. He'd been meaning to go ask if he wanted to join their pool tournament but the mumbled words had stopped him in his tracks. He pressed his ear to the door and listened as Lewis alternated between thanking God for sparing him and begging for more than simple survival. It was confused and rambling and then everything went silent for a moment and Nico almost stepped back, thinking Lewis must be finished, but then he heard the sobs, the begging for forgiveness.

Nico always imagined Lewis knelt at the end of his bed, elbows rested on the mattress, hands clasped tightly together, but maybe he has that all wrong. He walked away feeling heavier of heart. He thought religion was supposed to be a comfort.

After the initial reports Lewis had come knocking on Nico's door. Nico was surprised to see him. They might live in the same building and while they didn't go out of their way to avoid each other they certainly made no effort to spend time together. Nico had just come back from a run, sweaty and tired and just wanting to jump in the shower. He wasn't in the mood to work out what Lewis was talking about.

"Turn on the fucking news," Lewis told him, exasperated.

Nico hesitantly let him in, going through to the front room and turning the TV on. The reporters were confused, trying to keep up with the stream of attacks from all over the world, talking to experts, trying to work out what was causing it, but no one ever seemed to get to the point because they were constantly interrupted by reports of fresh violence and cannibalism across the globe.

Nico sat, the sweat drying on his body and turning sour, unable to talk but somehow glad that Lewis was there. He looked down at Lewis' arm, the angel, the virgin Mary, and he wondered if this was a reason to believe in God or to renounce him for good. He was too pragmatic for prayer. He looked back to the TV and watched the world fall apart.

The comforting, swaying rhythm stops and there's loud noises, shouting, making Nico feel like he's being ripped out of heaven and dragged down to hell. He tries to open his eyes but he can't see anything but a blur and then he's moving but no one is touching him, yanked around by turbulence.

He remembers being a child, a flight with his father on a private jet. His dad's friends were there and Nico had felt so grown-up, being included. He sat up straight and sipped his lemonade and tried to pretend he understood the conversation.

They hit a patch of bad turbulence just before Nice and the jolt made Nico feel like the plane was going to fall right out of the sky. He tensed, looking around. The joviality of the conversation never faltered and so he pretended it didn't bother him. He reached for his drink, trying to play it cool, but as he went to take a sip the plane jolted again and he spilt it all down himself. Now he was humiliated instead of just terrified.

He placed the drink back down, his cheeks blushing so red he could feel the heat radiating from them. He ducked his head down and gripped hold of the armrests tightly, his knuckles going white. Tears were stinging in his eyes but wasn't going to cry, not in front of these people. He wasn't going to embarrass his dad like that.

As the plane continued to rock around a frightened whimper escaped from Nico and he bit down on his lip, trying to keep it in. His dad unclasped his own seatbelt, reaching over for Nico's and unclipping that as well. Nico looked up at him with wide-eyed panic as his father lifted him up, holding Nico in his lap and extending his seatbelt to wrap around them both. Nico didn't dare look at the other men, he just buried his face in his father's chest and let himself feel safe.

"Daddy's boy."

Nico knew then and he knows now that Lewis' words had come from a place of jealousy but it still embarrassed him as the other boys snickered. They were 15, a group of them sat behind the garages, when Keke came over to see Nico. After a brief chat Keke had left them to it, handing Nico some money for later and without thinking Nico had hugged him because he always hugged his dad. Now Lewis was encouraging the other boys to laugh at him and Nico blushed like he did on that plane in front of his dad's friends. Nico knew enough about Lewis to attack him with his own vulnerabilities but that wasn't his style. He preferred to do his fighting on track.

A voice cuts through, making Nico open his eyes, but everything is still out of focus. The words, spoken in German, sound so familiar but Nico can't place the speaker. He closes his eyes and listens.

"Dad?"

He wants his father more than anything now, more than he has through any of this, and he feels tears streaming down his temples.

"Daddy. Finnish."

"I can't speak Finnish," the voice tells him.

"Yeah," Nico insists. "Finnish."

The voice continues in German, apologising and comforting but it's all wrong and Nico shakes his head. Someone's hands try to stop him. And then it comes, the words he's been craving, and Nico doesn't even really understand them but this is how his dad spoke to him when he was little, when he'd woken up from a bad dream or when he was scared in his lap on a private jet. Nico never knew exactly what they meant, he never learned, but they always made him feel better. The voice might be wrong but the words were there and Nico felt less alone.

 

_Loss of identity_

_Daniel_

Jenson has the master bedroom of the penthouse. Seeing as he's the oldest it only seemed fair. The bed is on a raised area like a tiny stage which in Dan's eyes is just one tiny step away from fitting a mirrored ceiling. Jenson is sprawled on the bed now, his legs dangling, his T-shirt riding up to show a sliver of stomach. Dan's always found that sexier than being undressed. Nudity can get boring fast.

Jenson itches at his stomach, his hand obscuring Dan's view, and he feels like he's been caught in the act. He looks away, scanning the expanse of fitted wardrobes. It's been so quiet since Nico and Lewis left. They both made the decision to stay here, be left behind, but it feels lonelier than Dan was expecting. It's like they're both in mourning, as though they had anything left to lose. There's always more to lose though. It's a lesson Dan's learning further every day.

He slides one of the wardrobe doors open, peering inside.

"Don't do that," Jenson tells him.

Dan turns to look at him. "Haven't you been through this stuff?"

"It doesn't belong to us," Jenson says.

"I don't think they're coming back for it," Dan responds, turning to start looking through the neatly hung clothes. "I've been through every drawer in my room but I think it was a guestroom, there's nothing juicy in there."

"Yeah, well, you're an Aussie," Jenson says, sitting up. "Might as well have been raised by wolves."

Dan turns to grin at him over his shoulder. "I've seen you drunk." He tosses a suit over to him. "Try this on."

Jenson pulls it towards himself, tilting his head at it. "Why?"

"Because you'll look hot in it," Dan tells him, already searching back through the rack. "Put it on."

He can see Jenson in the mirror by the dressing table, see him not moving. Dan sighs, looking through the shirts. Where the suits are expensively tailored and timeless the shirts have rather more personality. He grabs two, spinning around to hold them up to Jenson.

"Paisley or pinstripe?"

Jenson stares at them. "Oh God, they're hideous."

"Try the paisley," Dan tells him, throwing it over.

"Why?" Jenson asks again.

"Because it's funny," Dan says, exasperated. "Because why not? What else have you got to do?"

"It feels weird," Jenson says, pulling the shirt into his lap and fingering at the buttons. "Dead man's shoes."

"Dead man's shirt," Dan corrects. "Don't you ever just want to pretend? Play make believe?"

"Wish myself away?" Jenson sighs.

"Not away," Dan dismisses. "Wish yourself better."

Jenson pulls his T-shirt over his head and Dan turns away, moving onto the next wardrobe. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jenson's reflection moving in the mirror but he forces himself not to look. Just the promise is enough to make him feel hot though. He leans against the wardrobe door, searching through the contents.

"Hey," he says, grinning as he pulls the outfit out. "I guess someone had a yacht." He places the uniform over the back of the chair and searches on the top shelf for the matching hat, placing it on his head and spinning around to show Jenson. "Permission to come aboard, captain."

Jenson shakes his head. "It suits you." He's dressed in the suit trousers now, the shirt hanging open. Dan's eyes scan up and down.

"Not so bad yourself."

Jenson looks down at himself, self-conscious, and Dan turns away, not wanting to give him an excuse to call a stop to this. Maybe Dan is trying too hard but they need to not be alone right now. Dan can't stand being alone with himself anymore. He'd rather be in anyone's head but his own. He'd rather be anyone but himself.

He opens up the third wardrobe and finds himself faced with a bounty of expensive gowns. He smiles, picking two out at random. "Which one's my colour?"

Jenson looks up from buttoning his shirt. "Neither. Put the sailor outfit on."

"That turn you on?" Dan teases. "A bit of YMCA?"

Jenson rolls his eyes. Dan laughs, turning back to the wardrobe, something sparkly catching his eye.

"This one," he declares. "Sparkly boob tube."

"No," Jenson tells him.

"Oh yes," Dan insists, pulling his T-shirt over his head. "Help me out with this."

Jenson reluctantly comes over to him, taking the top and unfastening the back of it. "It's not a boob tube," he tells Dan. "It's boned, it's a corset."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Dan comments.

"I've dated a lot of models," Jenson responds. "And this isn't going to fit you."

"I'll suck it in," Dan tells him, breathing in and pulling in his stomach.

As Jenson pulls the material around him it doesn't seem like it's going to fit but with a final tug Jenson manages to get one of the fastenings around the waist to clasp shut, the rest left to hang open. Dan puts his arms by his side to pull the rest of the material to his body. He admires himself in the mirror and then presents himself to Jenson.

"What do you think?"

Jenson shakes his head and then he leans in to kiss him. It's a brush of lips, fingertips against his cheek, like the ghost of something. Dan is sick of ghosts. He keeps his eyes closed when Jenson pulls away, leans back against the cool surface of the wardrobe.

"In a bind, any Aussie'll do, right?" Dan murmurs.

"Will it help if I speak in a French accent?" Jenson asks.

Dan smiles and opens his eyes. " _Oui, Dan, baises moi!_ "

Jenson laughs. "I'm sorry."

He goes to move away but Dan grabs his arm.

"I'll be anyone," he says. "Pick an outfit."

Jenson moves in close, leaning against him. He brushes their mouths together and then whispers against his lips. "Let's be no one." Dan nods his agreement and Jenson kisses him for real.

 

_Blood loss_

_Alex_

Alex's hands are covered in blood again but this time it's his own. They haven't given him any water but Alex is still trying to work out if he'd use it to quench his thirst or try to clean himself up. He feels like it must be ingrained into his flesh by now. His shirt was damp but now it's stiff and it makes him feel nauseous. He wants to know where Mitch is. He wants to know where he is. He wants to go home.

The walls are made of wood and he figures he's in some kind of barn, a stable block maybe, the area he's in is small and it smells like animals and shit. Somewhere where no one will hear him scream. He hasn't screamed though, not once, and he doesn't intend to. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He hears the heavy bolt sliding in the door and he sits up straighter, using his defiance to guard against whatever they're going to throw at him next. What he doesn't expect is Mitch to stumble into the room, the door slamming shut behind him, bolt sliding back into place.

Alex is so flooded with relief that he momentarily forgets about anything else. Mitch moves over to him, kneeling by his side, and Alex grips his shoulders, looking at him, doing a visual check to see if he's in one piece. There's a trickle of dried blood down his temple but other than that Alex can't see any damage.

"Are you okay?" Mitch asks, touching the hem of his blood soaked shirt.

Alex nods. "Yeah. I think. I haven't bled to death yet."

Mitch gives him a look. "What is it?"

Alex shrugs. "Shrapnel? It didn't bleed long. Just a lot."

Mitch takes a breath and lets it out all in one go like it's the first time he's breathed since that explosion. He sits down beside Alex, leaning against the wall.

"Did you tell them anything?"

"No," Alex says, shaking his head. "Not a word."

"Good," Mitch says. "Me neither."

Every time they come in here all they want to know is where they come from, how many is there, what do they have? Alex wouldn't compromise their little community like that and he knows that Mitch wouldn't either. He'd rather be tortured to death in this barn than drag the rest of them into this mess. They're safe. Alex wants them to stay that way. He wants it more than he wants his own life right now.

Maybe part of that is penance, his stupid pride making him take risks that didn't need taking. If they'd brought Max and Carlos like they usually did they would have had lookouts. He hopes that Shadow made it back okay. He doesn't want any more blood on his hands. He looks at them, stained red, and he doesn't think he'll ever feel clean again.

"I counted two sunrises," he says.

Mitch looks at him. "What?"

"I counted twice," Alex says, nodding up to the corner of his stall.

Mitch looks up, suddenly getting to his feet. "I couldn't see any daylight," he says, standing under the little sliver of light. "This is an external wall." He studies it, looking for weaknesses, feeling with his fingertips.

"What are you going to do?" Alex asks. "You don't think they're watching us? They have guns. We're not going to get very far. Or maybe they'd just let us go and follow us home and then they're all fucked."

Mitch's arms fall heavily down to his sides, his body sagging. He sits down beside Alex again. "Yeah," he agrees. Their arms brush against each other in the small space between them. "They're watching us," Mitch says again.

"Yeah," Alex agrees.

Mitch stares down at their hands, so close. "Listening."

"We can't give anything away," Alex says, realising where Mitch is going.

Those people know that they're friends, that they're something together, but they don't know everything. If they knew the depth of their relationship, how close they were, how much it hurt to see each other in pain, it would give them so many new ways to hurt them. Alex aches to hold Mitch, to indulge in a little comfort, but it's too dangerous.

"Right," Mitch agrees.

Alex's whole body vibrates with pain in a way that it hasn't before. Suddenly every hurt inflicted on him since that explosion feels like it's stabbing him afresh, slicing down to the bone. He can't have the one thing he wants or it's going to get taken away from him and given back in pieces.

 

_Mind control_

_Lewis_

"You crashed the car."

Those are Nico's first words when he wakes up in the infirmary. Lewis can't help but snort a laugh.

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

Nico looks around. "Did we make it?"

"Yeah," Lewis nods, allowing himself to take the place in. "We made it."

The camp was so much more than he could have hoped for. In the back of his mind was the worry that they were driving to nothing, into their own demise, and that he'd dragged Nico along for the ride. But the military, in this area at least, is still operational and they're working hard to keep everybody safe. That's not what impresses Lewis most about this place though.

The soldiers are disciplined men, they've seen things on battlefields most people can't imagine, they don't know what to do but fight. Lewis doesn't wish to take anything away from their courage against the end of the world but it's the civilians who impress him the most, their determination and resilience. They could have given up but instead they've decided to strive for greatness. They don't want to survive. They want to thrive.

"This is a good place," Lewis tells Nico. "We made the right choice."

"Does Jenson know?" Nico asks. "Dan?"

"I'm working on it," Lewis insists, though he's embarrassed by the fact that he's still finding his feet, that he doesn't even know if that's possible yet. Nico was the one who nearly died but he's still the focussed one while all Lewis can do is walk around in a daze. "You worry about getting better," Lewis tells him. "I'll sort it."

Nico nods, making a noise of agreement. He looks tired already.

"Toto's here," Lewis says. "And Susie. And Seb and Kimi and Christian."

"A reunion," Nico smiles.

"Yeah," Lewis responds. "Get some rest. I'll come back later."

He finds Toto and the rest of the construction crew taking a break. Toto waves him over and Lewis goes to sit with him on the grass. The sun is beating down, Toto's brow damp with sweat, but it takes longer each day for the chill to leave the air in the mornings.

"Nico's awake."

"Yeah?" Toto asks. "How is he?"

"He's doing well," Lewis nods. "I'm really glad you were there, man. When we arrived. I was just... I was really scared."

Toto puts a hand on his shoulder. "I was very glad to see you. I wish I could have done more for Nico."

"He was out of it," Lewis says, shaking his head. "They gave him this shot, it made him all loopy. I should thank Kimi though. I've been meaning to. I don't know what he was saying to Nico in Finnish but it worked."

"I think he was telling him what he needed to hear," Toto says.

Lewis nods, looking in the direction of Kimi's shelter. "Every time I go past there's kids trying to show him magic tricks."

Toto laughs. "He has a fanclub."

Lewis sighs. "I should sort Nico's things, bring him some fresh clothes."

"You brought a lot of bags," Toto comments.

"We brought everything," Lewis agrees.

"We were like that," Toto says. "You'll see, you don't need much here."

Lewis hangs his head, pulling at the grass. "I brought my World Championship trophy," he admits. "I don't even know why, man. I couldn't leave it."

"They might be able to melt it down," Toto says. "Make something useful."

Lewis looks up at him, frowning.

"You don't have to," Toto tells him. "I'm not even saying you should. It's different now, the things that matter, the things that don't. If you want to make a shelf in your shelter to display it I doubt anyone would judge you."

Lewis sighs. "Doesn't mean anything though, does it? World Champion. There's not a world."

"There's people," Toto says.

Lewis nods. "After the crash, when I couldn't get Nico out of the car, I thought for sure we were both going to die. I mean, who was going to help us? I thought there _was_ no one to help us. I thought we were on our own and then... I thought I was dreaming when I saw that army truck."

"You're lucky they were on patrol," Toto agrees.

"I gave up hope," Lewis admits. "Just for a moment. It was too long." He plays with the grass between his fingers. "A funny thing happened. When I was waving at them, I was jumping up and down and shouting and when they got near, I don't know, this feeling came over me, it was awful, it felt worse than giving up. I knew I was saved but..."

"Sonic warfare," Toto says matter of factly.

Lewis looks up at him. "What?"

"Have you seen the speakers?" Toto asks, gesturing to the fence.

"I figured they were for announcements," Lewis says.

"They're all facing out," Toto responds. "They have them on the vehicles too. There's a frequency, we can't hear it, but when it's played, it fills you with a sense of unease, it makes you want to leave. It works on the infected too. It keeps the soldiers safe during patrols, keeps the infected out of their way while they look for survivors and supplies. They don't use it here often, only when there's a lot of them coming, more than they can tackle at once. They switch it on and it drives them away. You can always tell when it's on. You can feel it. It's not nice but we know why it's there."

Lewis takes a moment to process this. He wasn't being punished. He made the right choice.

"Do they have a satellite phone?" he asks.

"I don't know," Toto says, looking confused. "We're not allowed near the base, the communications."

"I need to get in touch with someone," Lewis says. "I made a promise."

"You can ask," Toto says, pointing him in the direction of the office. "That trophy could come in handy for bartering."

Lewis smiles at him. "Good idea."

 

_Extortion_

_Adrian_

Mark insists on going alone, despite Adrian's protests. Everyone is shaken by Mitch and Alex's disappearance, and with every passing day the chances of them coming back alive get slimmer. Adrian understands Mark's need to go out there and find out one way or another, but the fact is there's unlikely to be a satisfying conclusion. In this world, people tend to just vanish. They've been lucky until now and it's made them careless. They need more respect for what's out there.

Adrian offers to go with Mark, almost insists, but he knows when to back down. This is something that Mark has to do. He hasn't left the confines of his house since they made the place safe and Adrian knows that he's scared. He also has a sense of duty towards these kids and nothing Adrian can say is going to keep him here.

When Mark doesn't come back that night Adrian doesn't allow himself to worry. He stays up late, sketching ideas to improve their generator system, make it more renewable. He wants to get solar panels but it's a big job and he's not sure where to source them so he's trying to come up with an alternative. Eventually, he has to concede his exhaustion and go to sleep. It's a restless night. This place would be rudderless without Mark; the mentor and the heart.

It's early afternoon when Adrian finally hears the car on the gravel drive. He rushes out to see an exhausted Mark stepping out the car, Simba springing out behind him. He's pale, sickly looking, but there's a determination in his clenched jaw.

"Someone has them," he says, leading Adrian back into the house. He doesn't stop moving until they're in Adrian's room, the door closed.

Mark paces as he explains how he spent yesterday driving every route he could think of into and out of town before taking his search further into the countryside. He slowed down as he passed every infected person, every dead body, just to check, but he saw no sign of Mitch or Alex. Not until he came across the men.

"They want this place," Mark says. "They'll give them back if I give them my house."

Adrian sits at his desk and picks up a pen, considering their options. He's always thought better with a pen in his hand, a signal to his brain to get creative.

"Mate, I don't know what to do," Mark says hopelessly. "I can't throw all these people out but I can't just leave them there."

"What do they want?" Adrian asks.

Mark looks at him. "I just told you..."

"No," Adrian cuts in. "What is it they actually want? What do they know about this place? What did they ask for?"

Marks sits down with a sigh. "They said that we're clean, we're uninjured, we must have a safe base. They say we have it easy. They want it easy too. They want to stop surviving on scraps and what they can take."

Adrian nods. "Offer them a trade."

"I can't take this place out from under people," Mark insists.

"Trade me for Mitch and Alex," Adrian says.

Mark gapes at him. "Mate. No. That's... We're not doing that."

"I can make them their own safe base," Adrian says. "I can reinforce it, give them running water, work out a power system, I can set them up with what they want."

"No," Mark says, shaking his head as he gets to his feet, once again starting to pace.

"You're established here," Adrian says. "But for the future of this place you need them more than you need me."

"You're not a fucking bargaining chip!" Mark yells.

Adrian puts his pen down. "It makes the most sense."

"We're not having this conversation," Mark says. "We're just not." He sits back down with his head in his hands.

"We'll work this out," Adrian tells him. "We won't leave them there. There'll be a way."

Mark lifts his head up. "When I left them, I just drove in circles for hours. I didn't want them to be able to follow me back here so I drove until I was sure I was alone and then I parked by the side of the road and I slept in the car. I woke up with Simba growling and I opened my eyes to see one of those... _things_. It was just pressed against the glass, pawing mindlessly. They're not people. They're not." He levels his gaze at Adrian. "We won't survive out there."

"We'll work it out," Adrian says again.

"They're asking for the one thing with any value left in this world," Mark says.

Adrian shakes his head. "We don't respond to extortion."

Mark looks at him with lost eyes. "I'm not sure we have a choice."

 

_Blackmail_

_Sebastian_

The ground is cool and slightly damp beneath Sebastian's back. He stares up at the clouds that blow across the sky, and none of them look like shapes to him but it's soothing anyway.

"Are you going to help me?" Christian asks wearily.

Sebastian turns his head to the side to see Christian pulling weeds out of the rows of crops. He has his head down. He always has his head down. Sebastian sits up, watching him for a moment.

"We were in my house for all that time," he says, "and we never finished our conversation."

"What conversation?" Christian asks.

"Can you just look at me for a second?" Sebastian asks. "Can you just stop for a minute and act like I exist."

Christian does look at him then, but it's only to give him a withering look. "Of course you exist. I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Sebastian just stares at him, letting his tiredness, his vulnerability, come through on his face. Christian relents with a sigh, dropping his trowel and coming to sit by Sebastian's side. He brushes the dirt from his hands.

"I was a kid when we met," Sebastian says, smiling fondly.

"You were," Christian agrees.

"That seems like so long ago," Sebastian says. Christian looks at him like he's not sure that's true. "You still think I'm a kid?"

"You're not a kid, Seb," Christian dismisses, shaking his head as he looks away again.

"So why didn't it ever happen?" Sebastian asks.

Christian looks down at his hands. When presented with something as plainly as that Sebastian knows he's given Christian nothing to hide behind. It's a risky move, Christian doesn't like being put in a corner. He's British and he's repressed but more than that he's careful.

"It couldn't have been me," he finally says. "I couldn't have just decided that I wanted you and then acted on it."

"Why not?" Sebastian asks. "That's what people do."

"But you didn't do it," Christian counters.

"No," Sebastian agrees. "You never really acted like you wanted me to. Not really. You hugged me like I was the most important thing in the world, but that was just trophies. It was just championships. You invited me to your house but there was always this distance. Like you wanted me but you didn't want to want me. Or I wasn't worth the trouble."

"It would have been emotional blackmail," Christian tells him. "You wanted those wins. I wanted you. How could either of us have trusted we were doing it for the right reasons? There was always something else. It was never just us."

Sebastian shifts closer to him. "It's just us now." He looks up at Christian holding his gaze. "That's all we have we left."

Christian nods and Sebastian can tell he wants to look away again but he doesn't. He lets Sebastian see him, really see him, for the first time. No barriers. Nothing else. Just them.

 

_Combat_

_Mark_

It seems only fair to be open with everyone about exactly what's going on and so Mark calls a meeting, all of the people he's taken in, all the people he's become responsible for, and he tells them exactly what they're facing. Honesty seems like the best policy and whatever happens is going to affect them all. And maybe Mark is just a coward who can't face this on his own.

He looks at their faces as he talks and all he sees is a room full of scared people. None of their lives have prepared them for this. He yearns for the days when the infected were their biggest problem. He could probably learn to come to terms with killing those things. Whatever the stakes, he knows he couldn't do the same to a human. He never thought that would be a weakness.

There are no conclusions to be drawn and so the meeting comes to an unsatisfying end. Mark escapes to the office, trying to get his head straight, trying to work out if sharing the burden was smart or selfish. If anything he feels heavier than ever. All of those people are relying on him and he simply doesn't have the answers. He's not cut out for this.

Jos comes into the room without knocking and Mark tries not to roll his eyes. He sits back in his chair, looking up at him.

"You're not going to reach the right decision by talking about this," Jos tells him. "We both know what needs to be done."

"That's something everyone has to agree on," Mark says.

"If we bring those boys back, do you think anyone's going to care how we did it?" Jos asks.

Mark sighs. "It's not that simple. It's about doing what's right. It's about keeping our humanity."

"They've lost theirs," Jos counters. "We don't know what those boys are going through but I doubt their human rights are being respected. You can't fight these people with reason."

Mark shakes his head. "I won't stoop to their level."

"No one is asking you to do it," Jos tells him. "Just let us."

Mark is ashamed as he feels a huge weight lifted from his shoulders at the offer. He feels like all he's done since the outbreak is hide and yet people look up to him like he's their saviour. All he did was not lock his door, let them inside. He never did anything heroic and as every passing day goes by he's sure he never will. He doesn't have it in him.

All he has to do is turn a blind eye to the people who are willing to do what he won't for the greater good.

The next day, Jos takes Max and Carlos and some of the men that Mark has never gotten to know as well as he should. They take two cars and they go armed with whatever they can get their hands on – axes and crowbars and knives. It doesn't seem like enough. Mark has seen the guns. He understands now, Max's fears. He wishes he'd done more to protect them all before it came to this.

They're gone for hours and Mark tries to believe that any losses, any injuries, won't be on his head. Jos wanted to do this, his team wanted to do this, and Mark's stupid to think his word would have stopped them. Still, Jos asked for permission. Mark isn't innocent in all this.

It's late afternoon when he finally sees the cars returning up the driveway. He's outside before they've even stopped moving, looking through the windows, searching the faces. When he sees Mitch he nearly collapses from relief, yanking the door open and pulling him into a hug. Mitch laughs but he grips him back just as tightly.

"You're okay?" Mark asks, pulling back to look at him.

"I'm fine," Mitch responds.

"Alex?" Mark asks, looking around.

Mitch nods. "He's okay."

Mark helps Mitch out of the car and then goes over to where Alex is being helped out by Carlos, pulling him into a hug too. He winces.

"Careful," Mitch tells him.

Mark looks down at him, the bloody clothes, and he instantly feels sick.

"It's not serious," Alex dismisses. "Honestly. Just... sore."

"Let's get you both cleaned up," Mark says, trying to sound far more okay than he is.

Mitch goes to Alex's side, putting an arm carefully around him, and together with Carlos he helps him walk inside. Mark watches them go before turning to Jos who is collecting his things from the car.

"I never want to know what happened," Mark tells him. "Never."

Jos nods his understanding and Mark goes to follow the others into the house.

 

_Massages_

_Jenson_

They didn't use each other's names those first few days after the kiss. They were trying to shed their old selves, be something new in this new world, reinvent. Jenson didn't want his past creeping into the world they lived in now. It hurt less if he was simply gone. And so they spoke with their bodies, revelled in something that was brand new, something that only existed in the _after._

When Lewis called from Switzerland, something shifted. There was something out there, a place to go, somewhere they could live on. They're not ready for that yet, to step back into the world, but they know that it's an option and that's changed everything. They'll exist for as long as they can here, in their penthouse above it all, and when the fear and the loneliness becomes too real they can jump in a car and see their friends.

Now he uses Dan's name as much as he can because he wants this to be real, this is a moment he wants to exist in, and he loves it when Dan says his name because it makes him real too.

"Jenson."

They're sprawled on the sofa, Dan's feet up on the coffee table, Jenson's legs in Dan's lap while he reads by the light of an electric lantern. They've spent so long saving batteries, saving bulbs, counting resources and making them last. They allow themselves a bit more frivolity now. This no longer seems like a death sentence.

Jenson looks up at Dan over his book. "What?"

"I found something earlier," Dan smiles, his fingers sliding up and down Jenson's bare calf.

"What did you find, Dan?" Jenson asks.

Dan moves Jenson's feet out of the way so he can stand up, heading through to the master bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. He's back moments later, holding up a bottle of something.

"Didn't I tell you to stop going through their stuff," Jenson states.

"I don't know, maybe, I mostly tune you out," Dan responds.

Jenson swipes at him when he gets close enough. "What is it?"

"Massage oil," Dan responds, pulling Jenson's legs back into his lap. He pours some into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. "I've had a lot of massages, I think I've picked up a thing or two."

"I don't want a sports massage," Jenson tells him, shaking his head.

Dan smiles. "I didn't say where I got the massages."

His slippery fingers make their way from Jenson's ankle up to his knee and back down again. It's just the right pressure, pressing in without hurting, waking up the muscle without making it ache. Jenson leans back into the cushions, saving his page with his finger as he lets the book fall to his chest with a sigh.

"Dan." The word is barely more than air.

Dan leans forward, fingers still working Jenson's flesh, and he places a kiss on Jenson's kneecap.

"Jenson."

He lets the book fall to the floor, no longer concerned with saving his place. He leans over, turning off the light, whispering Dan's name again.

"I never get to see you come," Dan complains.

"From a calf massage?" Jenson asks incredulously.

"I'm working my way up," Dan promises. "Happy ending guaranteed."

Jenson fumbles for a moment in the darkness, finding the switch on the lantern and turning it back on. Dan nods his head in approval, fingers caressing the back of Jenson's knee. Jenson lets his eyelids flutter, his hips becoming restless, and he could be accused of putting on a show, but he's just in touch with himself, his body, the pleasure that Dan is capable of giving him. He has nothing left to hide.

One day they'll pack up and head over to Switzerland, or Mark will make good on his promise and get the helicopter out here. They have options. But right now there's nowhere in the world he'd rather be than here.

"Dan."

"Jenson."

Alive.

 

_Unconsciousness_

_Mitch_

Sitting on Mark's sofa feels kind of like travelling back in time. Mitch remembers when he first came to England, being jetlagged and homesick and out of place, and Mark had sat him down on this sofa and given him a cup of coffee and acted like they were old friends. He remembers playing games on the Xbox, both of their competitiveness as fierce as if they were fighting for a real trophy. He remembers coming back from bike rides, exhausted and sweaty, and collapsing into the soft cushions, the dogs jumping on them, using that as an excuse to not get up and shower quite yet. He remembers getting so drunk on his 18th birthday that he passed out, buried in the cushions, and Mark putting a blanket over him and letting him spend the night.

It all seems so far away now. Mitch sits curled in the corner of the sofa, feeling dwarfed by it, that same blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It didn't feel cold when he climbed out of bed but the chill has set in now. He looks out of the window into the darkness of the garden and it matches how he feels on the inside.

He hears the office door open, Mark's feet on the kitchen floor, wandering around for a moment before he comes through to the living room. Mitch watches him as he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"Hey."

Mark whips around sharply, squinting at him in the darkness. "Fucking hell, mate," he says. "What are you doing lurking there?"

"Alex is snoring," Mitch shrugs. "It was either smother him with a pillow or come sit out here."

Mark nods, coming to sit beside him. Mitch can see him assessing his mood, working him out. "Does he always snore?"

Mitch snorts a laugh, shaking his head. "He's sleeping on his back. His stomach's still sore." He looks down at his lap. "He'll be okay though," he adds, mostly for his own benefit.

"He's fine, it's all superficial," Mark agrees.

"Yeah," Mitch says with a sigh.

"So that's the only reason you're sat here?" Mark prompts.

"I don't know," Mitch admits. He plays with the edge of the blanket. "Is it all gone?" he asks. "The world? Is it over? Are we going to just deteriorate into the dark ages?"

"No," Mark says firmly, like he actually believes it.

Mitch stares at him. "Everything we had, all of that knowledge, all that progress, it's on the internet, it's on computer files, it's on servers... It's all gone. How are we supposed to pass it on? How are we supposed to keep growing? The generation that comes after this, if there is one, they haven't got a chance."

"That's not true," Mark tells him. "We just have to keep it alive. We need to learn and we need to pass it on."

"I can't even really cook anything other than pasta," Mitch says. "I don't know how atoms work. I don't know how to make a building that won't fall down. How do we keep from losing that stuff? It feels impossible."

"Nothing's impossible."

"Can you stop sounding like a fucking self-help book?" Mitch mutters, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"It's up to you," Mark tells him. "You're young. You're the future, like it not. You can sit there and have a tantrum if you want. You can make everything you just said come true and it will be the dark ages and people will be unaware of all the potential that lies around them. Or you can sit down with Adrian tomorrow and you can look through his sketch book with him and you can ask him how it all works. You can be his apprentice and learn how to make this place self-sufficient and one day you can take over from him. And then, somewhere down the line, you'll train up your replacement and life will go on."

Mitch feels a glimmer of hope light up inside him, chasing those tendrils of darkness away. Seeing the other side of the world, the people that inhabit it now, it made him want to give up. If he does, the men who took them hostage will inherit the earth and Mitch can't let that happen.

"Or you could just sit there wrapped in a blanket, acting like a five year old," Mark says. He looks at Mitch, his eyes filled with sincerity. "But you won't."

"No," Mitch agrees, surprising himself with how strong the word sounds.

"Get some rest," Mark tells him. "You're going to need to be wide awake tomorrow."

 

_Secret identity discovered_

_Susie_

They gave away everything when they first got here and now, from the ground up, they've built a home again. It feels more special than anything they had before. This was earned with something much more valuable than money.

Those days, early in the summer, working through the heat and ending the day sweaty and exhausted but with a real sense of achievement. Their little team bonded quickly and the shelters grew. The workforce grew too.

Autumn is setting in now, a chill in the air, the nights getting colder, the trees in the forests that surround them turning slowly autumnal. It looks so beautiful that sometimes Susie catches herself just staring, breathing in the crisp air, the humans and the trees working in harmony. They have most of the permanent structures up now, cabins for people to live and grow in. Places for families to be made.

"Do you think we should decorate?" Toto asks. "Put some photos up?"

"They're safer in the album," Susie says. "I don't want them to fade."

Toto takes it from beside their bed, turning the pages slowly, the years passing by in front of them. "If you're going to hide something to keep it safe then there doesn't seem much point in having it."

Susie sits down beside him. She reaches out, touching the wedding band on his finger. "They're not just for us now. They're an origin story."

Toto smiles. "I like the sound of that."

Still he turns the pages, a picture book that's achingly intimate, and Susie leans against him.

"I like Sardinia," she says. "Our first anniversary."

Toto flicks through to find the right page. There's a photograph of them sitting at a table overlooking the blue ocean, clinking champagne flutes together as they smile for the camera. The people in that photo look so young to Susie now, their whole lives ahead of them. That smiling girl could never have guessed where she'd end up. She could never imagine finding such contentment in it either.

Toto slides it carefully from the album, getting to his feet and walking around the edge of the cabin until he finds a nail sticking out. He presses the top of the photo into it, piercing the cloudless sky and sticking it in place. Susie wants to be annoyed at him for damaging something so precious but she can't be. It looks good. It looks like home.

She walks over to him, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, Toto instinctively leaning down to meet her halfway. They've always made a good team.

"I'm going to go see Kimi."

Toto smiles. "Good luck."

As Susie walks through the camp she's still amazed at what a well oiled machine it is. It was a natural process, people falling into roles, the builders, the hunters, the growers, the teachers, the cooks. Susie loved watching that trickle effect as people recovered from their traumas and started to trust the community growing up around them.

It happened differently for everyone. Susie thought up until recently it might never happen for Kimi at all.

Kimi is a natural loner. He's not cold, not even reserved really, but he keeps to himself, his sharp sense of humour communicated only in mumbles so that you have to really concentrate to catch the punchlines. He showed no interest in any of the roles the camp offered. Instead he stumbled into something that Susie thinks now only he could have ever done.

Just as the adults trickled into their camp jobs, the children of the camp trickled to Kimi's feet. It happened gradually, one or two at a time, the children drawn in by the very thing that make adults wary of approaching him. His stillness, his quiet calm, his low voice that made them focus extra hard. Whenever they got him to smile they looked overjoyed and he seemed to be smiling a lot these days.

He's alone now though as Susie approaches, eyes closed and cap tipped over his eyes as he leans against his cabin. Susie's learned not to tiptoe around him though. If you were scared of waking Kimi you might never get to speak to him.

"Where's the playgroup?" she asks.

"I sent them to finds sticks," Kimi says, lifting the brim of his hat to squint at her.

"What for?" Susie asks.

"I don't know," Kimi replies. "It keeps them busy."

Susie can't help but laugh. His honesty is the main thing that won the kids over, she knows. They respect someone who doesn't lie to them, especially when grown ups are so keen to protect them. They all know what monsters hide under the bed now, they've made it this far, and they don't appreciate being treated like they're weak.

"Do you think you'll have room for one more in a few months?" she asks, placing a hand on her stomach.

Kimi purses his lips. "Not straight away. They just shit and sleep and stare. Boring."

"When they're a little older?" Susie asks.

"Okay," Kimi agrees.

He adjusts his hat in a way that tells Susie the conversation is over. She smiles to herself. Of all the roles she could imagine this man playing, babysitter wasn't one of them. Sometimes people can surprise you with who they are on the inside. She turns to walk away.

"It takes a village," Kimi says in a voice so quiet Susie barely hears it. She turns back to face him but Kimi has his cap pulled fully down again, as though he's asleep. "That's what Toto said. When we got here."

"He was talking about the camp," Susie says.

"I think he was right," Kimi shrugs.

Susie nods. "I think he was right too."


End file.
